


Dark Destiny

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Complete, M/M, Magic, Necromancers, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: King Braginsky has more than skirmishes at his kingdom's borders to worry about. He aches for love, but who would want an infamous necromancer king as a mate?





	1. Chapter 1

Ivan gazed over the icy cold throne room with disinterest. The shining black stone of the room only reflected the fact that there was so few subjects in attendance. This wasn't by chance. Ivan Braginsky, the king of the bitter north, was quite unhappy. When he was unhappy, heads had a tendency to fall off.

“Your highness, dinner is prepared.” Toris, his most loyal servant announced. The sparsely populated royal court seemed relieved to hear this, herding towards the door. Most nobles didn't have the guts to look at their own king, let alone speak to him.

“My own loving people, they won't even to speak to me.” Ivan mourned to the plainly dressed servant. “Under normal circumstances, I would say it's because you control them in life and undeath. Respectfully, you also gutted the lord of Yarlasky in front of his wife.” Toris pointed out weakly, also avoiding eye contact. “I suppose that would be intimidating.” the pale king sighed, slumping in his chair.

To go through another meal with thirty or more people, all scared of his every breath. It was exhausting just thinking about it. “Bring my meal to my private chambers. I require privacy for arcane studies.” Ivan decided suddenly, marching off with purpose. He didn't even wait for a response, charging out of the room. On the other side of the castle, past a gauntlet of defenses, was Ivan's sleeping quarters.

A small laboratory had been set up off to the side, for if he was particularly sleepless. Born being able to here the whispers of the dead made sleep a luxury. Of course, demons and ghosts didn't torture his sleepless nights anymore. He was the most powerful necromancer in all the northern lands. He could steal and sculpt lost souls to his will. Flesh and bone were his artistic medium.

Still, a new issue kept him from rest. King Braginsky badly desired a mate of his own. Oh to still the miserable quaking of his dark magic stained heart. He supposed the war with just about everyone to the south was dragging down his morale as well. That damn new religion was taking entire countries by storm, and Ivan wanted nothing to do with it.

It was those pesky light worshipers. They claimed necromancy was evil, and black magic was a disease. No one had the right to call Ivan or his precious sisters diseased. Well... maybe Natalia was a little mad, but she was just... odd. No worse than other magically inclined royal families.

Entering his lavish bedroom, Ivan sealed the door shut behind him. Hurriedly, he drew a small magic circle with enchanted sand. A much larger sacred circle of salt sealed it in. Focusing on his inner strength, the whispers of magic came as easily as breathing. “Oh great spirits beyond, tell me of my future mate.” Ivan commanded with rumbling authority.

The air chilled sharply around him, silky voices floating from beyond the great barrier of death. They spoke softly in Ivan's ear, so gentle they were barely words.

_Wall of black meets point of white..._  
So follows a great battle...  
Sapphires framed by gold...  
Untold wealth and victory to follow... 

The spirits evaporated away, leaving the king alone in his quarters. He groaned in frustration, having heard the poetic nonsense several nights in a row. The dead had been so much clearer in the past. There was a rapid knocking at the door, followed by a muffled “Dinner is here, your highness.”

With a brief burst of Ivan's potent magic, the doors were opened from afar. Unnerved by the sight after all these years, Toris hesitated before entering. “Put it on the dresser. I wish to meditate.” Ivan dismissed, not even looking over his shoulder. “My lord, important military reports have arrived by raven.” Toris informed, edging closer to the agitated king. When there was no response, the lesser servant put the scrolls on the ground and backed out warily.

Scrolls arriving by raven was generally a bad thing. It meant standard horseback or pigeon wasn't fast enough. He flopped on the floor, lazily reaching for a scroll. Closing the door with a mental flick of his mind, the king began reading intently.

General Yao had been defeated to the east, slain by a proclaimed hero from the south. This was quite a feat considering Yao was one of Ivan's greatest tacticians. The man was cunning, heartless, and reliable, as to be expected of a vampire. The second military report only confirmed the obvious, with better intelligence gathering.

The pathetic king of Britannica, Arthur Kirkland, had gone and raised another 'hero'. The betrayal stung fiercely, consider both kings had once attended magic classes together. Arthur ultimately specialized poorly in woodland magic, while Ivan mastered all manner of dark arts. They used to be friends, or at least work acquaintances. Fine. Ivan didn't need friends anyway.

He'd just slay this assassin like all the others before. He still had the preserved corpse of the last 'hero', Sir Eduard Vock of the Western Sea. Such a pompous title for someone who died instantly. The fool's family was still requesting the body for burial. Ivan denied them the right, artfully carving the man's skull into a macabre wind chime.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days past, and the ravens continued arriving with great urgency. They all bore the same grim message. The holy hero of Britannica was on a war path, topping forts in a direct line to the capitol. The only general to survive the massacres was Winter, a loyal subject of the court. He had served Ivan's father for years prior to being murdered.

There was no delicate nobility in the throne room this morning. Ivan paced, mind running rampant. As much as the citizens feared him, they feared being killed by Britannic invaders more. Dozens of requests for aid were starting to arrive by pigeon and horseback. Something had to be done.

“Sir, General Winter has arrived from the eastern gate.” Toris announced, shy like always. “Send him in.” the king ordered, settling on his silver throne. Moments later, a gaunt older figure shuffled into the room. Most of his features were obscured by bandages and armor, but the sky high rank was visible enough.

“My highness, It is an honor to meet with you.” the figure greeted with lopsided kneeling, voice roughened from years of bitter cold and chain smoking. “Rise and tell me your news.” the king demanded with ease. The older general obeyed, replying “The Britannic assassin travels in small numbers, with a group of specialists. Wall climbing equipment, magic, and trickery. The attack was at night. We were unprepared for such clever tactics.”

“Peasant casualties?” Ivan asked, already knowing the answer. “Incredibly high my lord. They will stop at nothing to get your attention.” the general confirmed, coughing heavily towards the end. “See the healers in the main wing. You have earned it.” Ivan dismissed. This hero had captured the king's attention indeed, in the worst way possible.

00000

The snow frosted capital city was buzzing with the news. Their feared necromancer king was challenging the proclaimed hero from the south to honorable duel. The event was being sang about on every street corner of the city, for better or worse.

“My lord, are you certain this is wise?” Toris stammered, wringing his hands. “Yes. No challengers for the throne beat me before. I have trained years for this.” Ivan replied, almost giddy in anticipation. He was dressed in plate mail, a sword and painted round shield held waiting. A tabard depicting the royal black eagle on red fields was worn proudly. His armored feet clicked on the smooth floor of the throne room constantly as he paced

How long had it been since the infamous king had fended off a challenger? “How can we be certain the invader accepted the request?” Toris wheedled away like he always did. “Do not question my judgments servant, for I have been blessed by gods.” Ivan barked, fed up with the meek act. Pondering striking the shorter man, he was interrupted.

“Blessed by the gods, huh? Awful cocky for a guy that's about to get crushed.” a stranger taunted from the wide open entrance way. “The hero of Britannica I presume.” Ivan greeted coolly, grinning widely. He didn't care if he looked insane, the pale king was going to enjoy this.

“What are the rules of this duel, skeleton king?” the figure demanded, totally covered in gleaming white armour. A blue and white fabric tunic covered his own chest piece. His impractical two handed sword was lovingly polished to a shine, drawn and at the ready. Twenty of his comrades trailed behind him, ranging from obvious wizards to brutish mercenaries.

“There will be no assistance from the outside. Consequences will happen otherwise.” Ivan began, pointing to the literal wall of skeleton archers behind him. “This better apply to you bub.” the helmet wearing hero scoffed, humorously light about the situation. “Of course. It is a battle to the death, after all. I can think of nothing more honorable.” Ivan crooned in a sickly sweet tone, putting on his helmet.

“Of course, you'd think that you – Holy shit!” the distracted hero screeched mid sentence as Ivan charged. Laughing manically, Ivan tried slamming into the offensively geared knight. The king's attempt to knock him over with the shield failed, but only barely. Slightly more agile in lighter equipment, the challenger was quick with his own silly sword. Didn't he know shields were superior?

After several lunges and trip attempts, Ivan fell back into a defensive stance. This guy was fast, and quite amazing in battle. Panting from his bold exertions, the king would have to reserve his remaining energy for a different opening.

The other man wasn't fairing well, but still had great range with that heavy sword. Ivan's shield was starting to look quite dented from fending off it's mighty blows. “Give it up skeleton man. I'm faster, and hit harder!” the other knight boasted, breathing just as hard.

“You forget I am wiser!” Ivan roared, recklessly flinging his shield at the man. Using the natural flinching reaction, the king charged into close range. Smashing the helmet clean off with the pommel of his short sword, Ivan flipped the light blade over and pressed it to the young man's exposed neck. “Damn it... Just... make it quick okay?” the knight sighed in resignation, knowing this was the end.

Ivan didn't listen, utterly transfixed by the stranger's face. It was tan, framed by golden blonde hair. Handsome features centered around blue eyes that shone like jewels. It was a crime against nature to kill someone this beautiful. The teasing phrases of three days ago looped in the king's lonely mind.

_Wall of black meets point of white..._  
So follows a great battle...  
Sapphires framed by gold...  
Untold wealth and victory to follow... 

His fabled mate couldn't be this pest, could he? 

“Drop the weapon.” Ivan hissed, conflicted and horribly attracted at the same time. Pinned to the wall at blade point, the stranger obeyed grudgingly. “Toris, shackle him and strip him down. I want him secured in my chambers.” Ivan ordered loudly, unable to tear away from that handsome expression of fear. He even had freckles. Ivan adored freckles.

It was best to quadruple check the prophecy before getting his hopes up though. “What the hell! What are you going to do to me!?” the man demanded as he was cuffed and hauled away by undead soldiers. “Nothing sinister I assure you.” Ivan sang in response, feeling his heart flutter in his chest. The king had plans for this young man.


	3. Chapter 3

Five days passed by without a word from the king of Britannica. After discovery his prisoner was a son of Arthur Kirkland, a ransom demand was immediately sent off by raven. Ivan had admittedly expected that he might have to haggle the price down a bit, but to not receive any response at all? That was unusually harsh. The southern kingdom was a day away by magic raven, so time wasn't an excuse.

Of course, the hero known as Alfred Kirkland was hardly suffering. After a day of being in barbed cuffs on the cold floor, Ivan couldn't help but spoil the man. Steel shackles were traded for soft leather restraints, and soft bedding was provided. Warm sleeping wear was supplied and cleaned daily. Fresh food was always on demand. A frown simply didn't suit the attractive blond's features.

Entering his bed chambers, Ivan greeted his prisoner happily. The golden blond captive looked up expectantly, asking “Any birds or scrolls yet?” The king shook his head, frowning slightly. Having been off chain since three days ago, Alfred had dozens of opportunity to escape the room. He didn't appear to be doing so, quite depressed.

“Cheer up, he might comply if I threaten to send a finger.” Ivan soothed. The younger man just sighed and curled up on Ivan's plush bed. He started sniffling, looking absolutely crushed by the news. “I just... I don't get it. I know I pissed him off... but to send nothing at all?” he whimpered. Ivan floundered in situations like these. He almost physically hurt when the young man was sad.

“Don't cry, little one. I'm sure he is late to answer.” Ivan reasoned, itching to wrap himself around the prisoner possessively. “No... No! I've had enough! I'm not a pawn!” Alfred declared, switching from upset to prideful in seconds. 

He rolled over, looking at the king with bold blue eyes. “You clearly want to get with this. Don't you have any court positions open?” Alfred gestured to his own athletic body as he spoke, clearly unafraid. The bluntness of the question stopped Ivan in tracks, a hot blush creeping up his face. 

“I... um... yes.” the king stammered, heart racing.

“I'll be whatever you want, advisor, duke, whatever... I'll kill for you if I have to. But you gotta help me kill my dad. Just the worst god damn thing you can do to a man... What's the highest position you have open?” Alfred continued, so determined it was sexy.

“Queen. Most people don't wish to associate with necromancers.” Ivan replied quietly. Alfred cocked a brow in surprise, commenting “Queen huh, that's... well... hmm. Screw it, I'll do that. All of it, just kill my dad and destroy everything he ever loved. Besides, you're probably a decent size anyway.”

How could Ivan say no to a deal like that?

00000

Two months had past since his son was officially captured, but the king of Britannica was not bothered. The boy had always been nothing but a pest, threatening Arthur's rule. Today several nobles fraternized in the cream and gold colored throne room. The stoic, if grumpy, king was a beloved figure by his citizens. A spring festival of light was being planned in his honor. A lesser ceremony was being held next Sunday for the presumed dead Alfred, but Arthur had no intention of going.

“My dear, there's been terrible rumors lately about the king of the north lands.” His fair queen, Francine, fretted from her own chair. Arthur looked at his beautiful wife, the royal daughter of the neighboring francs. “He is a savage and a necromancer. That's hardly a surprise.” Arthur dismissed. 

“They say he's taken a wife, and a new advisor... That he's looking to take more land...” Francine whispered, clearly taking the rumors to heart. “Don't be daft. He has plenty of land. His advisors would be unable to handle more work load. Black magic can never prevail over the light.” Arthur insisted stubbornly, so assured in his own words. “If you insist, love.” Francine agreed airily, clearly not believing him. 

It was true the dark king was making moves though. A massive army was pressing in from the north. Although King Braginsky primarily used tireless undead for foot soldiers and archers, the army still had a notable human component of wizards and tacticians. This ensured the force would take at least two days to arrive. Just enough time to reinforce the already fearsome city walls.

A ragged bloody soldier stumbled into Arthur's near divine throne room. “My lord, my highness. It's a massacre.” the man gasped, barely alive himself. “You are dripping blood on my floors.” Arthur scolded in disapproval. The soldier took no heed, stumbling closer. “Felsbrook was overrun with undead. I rode my horse as fast as I could to warn you.” he continued, coughing harder.

Suddenly wracked with spasms, the soldier screamed and fell to the floor. He stilled in true death, pooling blood everywhere. Foul necrotic parasites could be seen pushing around under his skin. One noble fainted at the sight, while others recoiled in horror.

“Kiku, please dispose of this wretched creature. I must attend to military matters.” King Kirkland ordered, taking the time to walk around the festered body. The raven haired fire wizard complied silently, sombre brown eyes always watching. It was difficult for him to protest otherwise as a mute court wizard.

Taking a quick stroll to a nearby castle wall, the king looked pensively outward. You could hear a siege long before you could see it. In this case, you could smell it even before that. The faint odor of smoke and rotten meat was unmistakable. Braginsky's forces were much closer than previously expected. Improvisations would have to be made.

00000

Things were not going well for Arthur Kirkland as he huddled in his grand throne room. He had been played brilliantly. The loud and noxious forces to the west had only been slaves and festering zombies in forced march. Having pushed most of his men to the western wall in anticipation, the east was thinly manned. A massive force of skeletal soldiers scaled and took the east gate in under an hour.

The tactic was so unexpected that there was no possible defense. Since no one generally survived the necromancer king's wrath, Arthur had been unsure what the best defense style was. How ironic was it that his foolish son's tactics would be his downfall. No doubt the barbaric King Braginsky had stolen such strange ideas from Alfred's skull after killing him.

There was pounding on the barricaded door. The group of elite soldiers bunched around the king tensed. “Oh daaadddy... Let me innn!” a hauntingly familiar voice taunted through iron reinforced wood. “Alfred?” Arthur croaked in horror. He had hoped it was Francine, who had fled with their young son Peter and the court wizard over an hour ago.

There was a crack of sound as wooden barricade beams were splintered from immense invisible force. Arthur was well enough at magic to recognize the signs. The massive door swung open with a dry squeal, revealing three ominous figures surrounded by skeletal archers and warriors. One was obviously the dreaded skeleton king. He wore a black cloak with a red eagle.

His mysterious companion was well armed with a huge black sword, wrapped in red clothe with a black eagle. It had to be this rumoured queen, or at least a general. The third figure was a young maiden in a black bonnet and dress, dark magic oozing from her trim figure like shadowy tendrils.

The red cloaked stranger flipped his helmet visor up, flashing a cheeky grin. “Hey dad... Don't you love family reunions?” Alfred greeted, his smile as dangerous as it was bright. “You were supposed to be dead.” Arthur sputtered, terrified. “Now, dear brother?” the delicate female asked, sickeningly sweet. “Yes Natalia. You can play.” King Braginsky confirmed, giving her a chaste kiss on a lace gloved hand.

She started giggling wildly, the room seeming sharply darker. The twenty trained soldiers sudden dropped their weapons, clutching at their necks and choking for air. One man took off his helmet, falling to his knees and vomiting blood. All the others followed suit, gurgling and dying slowly as they writhed on the ground. Arthur watched, petrified in horror.

The woman started singing to herself as she sat in one of the blood pools, a dying man's head in her lap. She appeared to be carving hearts out of her victim's skin with razor sharp nails, smiling joyfully.

“What are you even doing here, Alfred?” King Kirkland balked, unable to stop staring at his own impudent son. “Well, if you haven't noticed, I'm the new queen of the north lands. Vanya here thinks I'm hot stuff, and he's such a sweet heart. The sex is just phenomenal!” the boy prattled on, holding hands with the villainous figure beside him

“Please, my love.” Ivan protested modestly, wearing a dopey smirk. It was disgusting to see how much that dark magic lunatic lusted after the least competent of Arthur's many sons.

“But enough about me... You abandoned me! Did you even read the ransom requests he sent? I'm your own blood and you just... So you brought this upon yourself.” Alfred stated evenly. “What are... are you doing?” Arthur babbled, suddenly unable to move his arms or legs. “Do you like that daddy? It's a nice little trick my husband taught me. Dark magic is so... convenient.” the honey blond prattled as he drew his sword.

“You don't have to do this, I'm perfectly willing to negotiate. Just think about what your doing, son!” Arthur begged, starting to cry. “Good bye dad. I'll tell your future grandchildren you said hello.” Alfred crooned, sword point aimed at his father's throat. “Grandchildren?” Ivan echoed, looking horribly lovesick and pleased. Arthur wanted to throw up.

“Yes my king. I said I'd do all this queen stuff didn't I?” Alfred soothed. He then plunged the sword forward sharply. Everything went black for Arthur Kirkland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you see? Comment or leave a kudos!

**Author's Note:**

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End file.
